I climbed upstairs to go to bed, feeling like absolute death, and remembered I hadn’t written today.  Normally, that would only make me slightly disappointed in myself with a promise to find time tomorrow.  But today, the second day of a new year, isn’t quite like any other day.  I can’t break a promise I’ve made to myself on the second day.

So, even though I’ve been battling a wicked headache for more than twenty-four hours, I’m diligently sitting in my office typing away.  I had a lot of thoughts today about what to say, floating through my brain in the lulls of the raging pain, but to endeavor to write any of them right now would do myself a disservice.  I’m tired, I’m in pain (like, the worst kind, the incurable kind, the lingering and nagging and haunting kind) and all I want is to sleep, even though I know it will not mean an escape from how I’m feeling right now.

It bums me out, it makes me mad.  Time slipping by while I’m barely able to function, focus or think.  While my whole body submits to this unending (normally 3-4 days) pain, asleep and awake.  It’s been so many years since my diagnosis, I can’t always remember what it was like to feel ‘normal’.  How do people exist like this — fighting, feeling so fatigued it doesn’t even feel worth it, and functioning?  I have hazy memories of soldiering through hangovers … but nothing like this.  Nothing like the erasure of my consciousness.

There’s something funny, too, about reading things I write when I’m languishing in the depths of this … it is sensitive and overpowering, exaggerated and elongated.  Distorted.  Perhaps because it’s so hard to focus on the calmness of my mind when it’s raging so unendingly.

Anyway.  Those are some disjointed thoughts of mine on this second day of January.  As I keep my promise to myself to write.  Write write write.  Like the bike.  Like quitting drinking.  And smoking.  One day at a time.  Then the next day … until it just feels like part of the whole story, and not an uncomfortable anomaly.

Xox, g